Masochist
by TheVerbalThing ComesAndGoes
Summary: The truth-that Cameron may have never loved him at all- hurts. But he needed the truth and he needed it to hurt. Or, maybe, he just likes to be in pain. Chase centric, with some Chase/Cameron and Chase/Thirteen


Masochist

Summary: The truth - that Cameron may have never really loved him at all - hurts. But he needed the truth and he needed it to hurt. The hurt made it real, made it honest, he thinks. (Or, maybe, he just likes to be in pain.) Chase centric, with some Chase/Cameron and Chase/Thirteen.

Setting: between "Teamwork" and "Lockdown"; some season 6 spoilers

**A/N**: thought of this when I caught a rerun of "Love Hurts" (from season 1) shortly after seeing the Chase/Cameron drama unfold in "Lockdown". The whole "Chase likes pain" thing served as inspiration, hence the title. Italicized parts are set sometime after April. Reviews are loved and much appreciated. :)

_

* * *

.._

_"April is the cruelest month, breeding_

_Lilacs out of the dead land, mixing _

_Memory and desire, stirring _

_Dull roots with spring rain. _

_Winter kept us warm, covering _

_Earth in forgetful snow, feeding _

_A little life with dried tubers."_

_- The Wasteland, T.S. Eliot_

_.._

The divorce papers come in January.

January third to be precise, but he's trying valiantly to force himself into _not_ remembering that date. It's been barely two months since she's left and he thinks, _she sure didn't waste any time_.

Chase answers the door bleary eyed and more than just a little hungover. He is still in his belligerent stage of grieving: when nothing feels more temporarily consoling than a few Heineken or a bottle of Scotch.

He's still wearing the same clothes he put on yesterday morning - though, as he stumbles to answer the knocking on his door, he notices that he's missing a sock and can't quite remember where he put his shoes.

Chase is grateful, more than anything, that today is Saturday.

"Robert Chase?"

"Yes…?" he answers, his accent thickened by the remnants of inebriation.

"These are for you. Sign here, here, and here. Please." The pleasantry is an afterthought, so he ignores it. He does as he's asked, though it isn't until he gets to the end of the page that Chase actually realizes what the hell he's holding onto, that he's signing away any meaning and importance his marriage may have held. The short man in the ill-fitted suit smiles, taking back his clipboard and adjusting his crooked, pea green tie. There is something about the man's presence that reminds him all too much of Taub and suddenly Chase really, really wants him to go away. Maybe it's the nose, or the height, or maybe it's the condescending smile that reeks of sarcastic irony. "Have a nice day."

_Prick. _Or maybe that's it.

Chase stares at the envelope for an indeterminable amount of time, contemplating whether he would feel relieved or more heartbroken if he just did what his gut was screaming at him to do and set the divorce papers on fire.

She isn't asking anything of him besides his signature, which, in his mind translates into this: she doesn't need him. Cameron certainly never wanted him. Why was she with him? Why was she with him for _two years_? Why bother getting married at all when she knew it'd be so easy for her to leave him when suddenly things were tough? He can't figure it out. If she thought he was broken enough to need fixing, she would have stayed, he knows. She would have wanted to be the one to suture up the wounds and convalesce their relationship back to good health.

He sets the papers on his coffee table, next to his keys, and an empty Jim Bean bottle.

Chase spins his -_ the_, he reminds himself; it holds no significance anymore - wedding ring around his finger and wonders if he is willing to even give her that much, anymore.

And then, he asks himself who he's trying to kid. He would be willing to give her that much and more, if she asked. (He signs the papers, but he can't bring himself to lift them from the coffee table.)

_

* * *

It's Tuesday, the only difference between now and then is that now he usually passes this day sitting at a bar, or at a bowling alley, or on his couch, with Thirteen, who is a surprisingly amicable companion, by his side. (Whereas then, he can't help reminding himself, he spent his workday dropping not-so-subtle hints to Cameron that he loved her.)  
_

_Tonight, they've chosen a bar called Thirsty's and in spite of being hit on by an impressive number of both sexes, Thirteen hasn't left his side. _"_You're missing something," she says suddenly.  
_

_"What?"_

_Thirteen lifts up his hand and points to his now empty ring finger. It hasn't gone unnoticed by him that she isn't hesitant about reaching out to him anymore. He probably thinks about those moments between them a lot more often than he should. _

_Though even _that_ small realization won't stop him from thinking more about it in the future. Chase remembers the one time he let his curiosity get the better of him, and he called her 'Remy'. She rolled her eyes and said 'Yes, Robert?' and that was the end of that._

_"How's it feel?"_

_He shrugs. "No different than it felt yesterday. ...Still feels like failure."_

_"You know," she says slowly, toying with a gin soaked olive, "I'm starting to think that you like this."_

"_Like what?"_

"_Feeling so…screwed up. Being a mess, the one who hurts. I don't know why but it's almost like... you need it."_

_He scoffs. "Trust me, I don't."_

_"Then why can't you just let it go?"_

_"Because I'm an idiot. Because I was in love with her for three years and I thought that all she needed was time. Time to love me back as much as I loved her but there was no amount of time in the world that could make her fall in love with me and I always...knew that, in the back of my mind. But I was an idiot. Such an idiot."_

_"...you said 'loved'."_

_"What?"_

_"You used past tense. Shows progress."_

_She's holding a drink between her hands, but it's still more than half full. She grabs his hand for just a moment, less than a second. Chase doesn't stop himself from wondering if that means something._

_"...Maybe."_

* * *

Cameron comes back to Princeton sometime in April.

April twelfth to be more exact, but he's trying - _so very hard_ - to forget that little fact.

"Why haven't you signed the divorce papers?" she frowns when she asks him, and he hates that he catches the mixed look of disappointment and pity on her face.

"It's been on my to-do list," he lies without even caring enough to put forth a convincing show. "Sorry." The divorce papers have been on his coffee table for three months, undisturbed but unforgotten since the moment he signed for them. Three weeks ago Chase spent his Saturday night flipping through pages of drawn out legal niceties absentmindedly, with Casablanca - one of Cameron's favorite movies - playing in the background on mute, nursing a beer and trying to remember the plot of _The Golden Flower_, Cameron's favorite book.

Needless to say, he couldn't. Couldn't name a god-damned character, couldn't even recollect enough sparse details to put together a sub-par synopsis.

"Will you sign them?"

_No!_ He wants to yell this at her. He wants to tell her, _and you shouldn't want me to_. _Why do you want this to be over so quickly?_ He wants to say these words, just to hurt her, just to see how much she will try to hurt him back.

"We were _working_ on it," he insists.

"And we _failed_."

She seems angry, indignant, even, and for a moment he wonders where the hell she gets off. He never hid from her, he never ran, never embraced any and every excuse to end their relationship. He was honest with her, even when he knew - he fucking _knew_ - that one day there would be something he would have to tell her that change her opinion of him, that would have her pulling away from him, condemning him as morally bankrupt. He knew that there were strings, that her love was everything _but_ unconditional. Their marriage was little more than a ticking time bomb from the moment they murmured "I do".

"Just tell me the truth!"

"About_ what?"_

_"Did you ever love me_?"

"I don't _know_!"

Honesty. Truth. It's all he truly wanted from her. He never wanted her to just say what she thought he needed to hear. The truth - that she may have never loved him at all, that he feels as if four years of his life have suddenly been wasted, that he feels _cheated_, robbed of what he'd convinced himself was love - hurts. But Chase needed the truth and he needed it to hurt. The hurt made it real, made it honest, he thinks. Or, maybe, he just likes to be in pain.

For a brief, _brief_, moment they swap bodies and reverse roles as she tries to maintain that she did love him, really, that there was no reason to doubt her feelings, that she didn't know why she screamed _"I don't know"_ with a hell of a lot more certainty than she ever said _"I love you,"_ but he isn't really listening anymore. He has his answer- not the one he wanted, necessarily, but it is definitely the one he needed.

"...I'm unfixable, not you."

"Sorry," he tells her and, somehow, he manages to mean it. Chase signs her copy of the divorce papers, doesn't say a word about the ones sitting on his coffee table underneath a mug of cold coffee and a half eaten Ho-Ho that he left there this morning.

He asks Cameron to dance and holds her close, pressing his forehead against hers and slowly torturing himself a little more. He isn't really thinking about anything at all when he kisses her; he does nothing except allow his mind to register the fact that her lips feel just as soft as they did six months ago, that she still carries the scent of fresh apples, that he still loves the way her body feels against his, which explains why he doesn't stop her from locking the door.

He knew this wouldn't end well. He wasn't sure how, at the moment, but he knew the second he knocked on her apartment door four years ago in the middle of her 'experiment' with their patient's stash of crystal meth and saw the state she was in, saw what she was like when she wasn't in control, when she wasn't ruled by her preconceived ideals about humanity, that it wouldn't end well for him.

He had a feeling, even then, that she would have no trouble getting over it. He, on the other hand, rips himself a new one minutes before she walks out of his life for good:

"I think," he whispers, his heart pounding, "that I will probably always love you, in spite of everything."

"I'm sorry," is all she says in response. He didn't think it was possible for her words to cut him any deeper, but they do.

It's hard to admit, even to himself, how much they do. It's even harder to admit that he just might be better off without her.

_

* * *

They've done this - drinks after work, conversation without commitment - many times, more than he can count, since Thanksgiving. Though this is the first night he's managed to make it through most of the night still sober. He's almost proud._

_"I'm getting a divorce," he says softly. His arms are wrapped loosely around Thirteen's waist, his hand holding hers, their stance is eerily similar to how he stood with Cameron nearly two weeks ago and now that the thought is in his head, he can't seem to get it out._

_"So I've heard. Did you forget that you already told me that?"_

_"No, I didn't. I just..." He just doesn't know what the hell he's doing. "I was just ...reminding myself, out loud."_

_Thirteen nods. "You're a surprisingly decent dancer. You take lessons or something?"_

_He laughs, though there is little humor behind the action. "Yeah, actually."_

_She seems to understand and drops the subject almost immediately._

_For a good, long while, they do little more than sway; his hands rest palms flat against her hips and her arms are wrapped loosely around his neck. She is warm against him and the scent of her shampoo is distracting. He can't place it, exactly, but he knows it is not at all identical to the one Cameron used. He hates that he can automatically tell the difference between the way __Thirteen's__ body fits against his compared to __Cameron's__ - and that this is just about the only thing Chase is thinking of when he kisses her. _

_For a split second, Thirteen kisses him back, surprisingly soft, surprisingly gentle, until she seems to second guess her initial response and pulls away from him, her cheeks flushed and mouth turned down into the smallest of frowns. "What are you doing?"_

_"I'm not exactly sure," he responds, honestly. Truthfully. (It's all he really wanted.) _

_All he really knows is the ache is in his chest has gotten stronger, and that it is harder to swallow down and ignore when he kisses her a second time._

* * *

Chase doesn't think he slept with Thirteen, but it's difficult to make any definitive judgments when he wakes up the next morning in her bed, shirtless, his head pounding and his throat dry as he listens to the sound of the water running while she brushes her teeth. The events of the night before are little more than a blur.

He's pulling himself up to his feet, letting the room slowly come into focus, when he notices her standing in the doorway. "What happened last night?"

"Nothing," she says simply, contradicting his sudden memory of her tongue brushing against his, the sweet and sour taste of an apple martini sweeping across his taste buds, her fingers threaded through his hair. He remembers that lying is one of Thirteen's many vices.

_Thirsty's_ is a bar three blocks from her apartment. He remembers that because when she told him, he tried to figure out if she was flirting with him or simply making drunken conversation, and if it meant anything that she ignored her general rule of keeping the world at a distance when she placed her hand on his arm and looked him in the eyes.

It only took her three martinis before she was relaxed enough to ask him to dance with her. He remembers that, too.

He'd leaned against her as they walked to keep himself from stumbling and couldn't help being distracted by how soft her shirt was. She smelled nice, too, and he didn't hesitate to tell her so. "You smell nice," he said and she laughed. He remembers thinking that she should relax more, and that maybe he would like the sound of her laughter if he heard it more often.

"Where's my shirt?"

"Dryer. A very enthusiastic fellow Aussie of yours spilled her beer all over it."

It's stupid, but Chase wonders if any of that is true. In the back of his mind he recalls her hands in his hair and his hands straying somewhere beneath the hem of her shirt, and her, sighing his name - his first name- in a way that made his stomach ache and his heart beat just a little bit faster. He remembers pressing her up against a doorway - hers? - while her hands found a home in the back pockets of his jeans. He senses now from the way she's looking at him, by the lies she tries to feed him about what happened the night before, that she would like him to believe she wants nothing more than to pretend last night didn't turn out the way it did.

Maybe a year or two ago, she would have been perfect for him: back in that stage of broken where you didn't want to _be_ fixed or to _help_ fix anybody else, where all you wanted was just to feel what it was like to truly self destruct. He's been _there_ more often than he feels comfortable admitting. He knows that she has, too.

He knows, as he glances absentmindedly at his bare ring finger, that he shouldn't be thinking about the fact that last night, Thirteen kissed him back and, in some twisted way, it reminded him all too much of his last dance with Cameron. (Stupid, reckless, and something that will more than likely end in pain.)

...But he can't seem to help himself.


End file.
